Char is Cursed
by 15thdoctor
Summary: In this version of the story Ella isn't the one with the curse. Char has the curse! Anyone who figures out his curse could use him. (He is still the prince.) Hattie desperately wants to marry Char. Will she find out about his curse and force him to marry her? You should seriously read the book before you read this. It's by Gail Carson Levine. Hope you enjoy this!
1. Chapter 1

I'm Ella. When I was almost fifteen, my mother caught a cold. My cook, Mandy, dosed us with curing soup, made with carrots, leeks, celery, and hair from a unicorn's tail. My mom said it delicious, but we both hated seeing those long yellow-white hairs floating around the vegetables.

Since father was away from Frell, as normal since he is always on trading expeditions, we drank soup on moms bed. (I drank soup without the hairs.) if he had been home, I wouldn't have been in her room at all. He didn't like me to be anywhere near him, getting underfoot, as he said.

Mandy told mom to eat the soup with the hairs in it. "I'll wait for mine to cool," Mother said. Then, after Mandy left, she took the hairs out of the soup while she ate and put them back in the empty bowl when she was done.

The next day Mother was much worse, too sick to drink or eat anything. She said there was a knife in her throat and a battering ram at her head. To make her feel better, I put cool clothes on her forehead and told her stories. They were only old, familiar tales about the fairies that change here and there, but sometimes I made mother laugh. Except the laugh would turn into a cough.

Before Mandy sent me off for the night, Mother kissed me. "Good night. I love you precious."

They were her last words to me. As I left the room, I heard her last words to Mandy. "I'm not very sick. Don't send for Sir Peter."

Sir Peter was Father.

The next morning, she was awake, but dreaming. With wide-open eyes, she chattered to invisible courtiers and plucked nervously at her silver necklace. To Mandy and me, there in the room with her, she said nothing.

Nathan, the manservant, got a physician, who hurried me away from Mother's side.

Our hallway is empty. I followed it down to the spiral staircase, remembering the times my and mom had slid down the banister.

We didn't do it when other people were around. "We have to be dignified," she'd whisper then, stepping down in an especially stately way. And I would follow, mimicking her and fighting my natural clumsiness, pleased to be part of her game.

But when we were alone, we preferred to slide and yell all the way down. And run back up for another ride, and a third, and a fourth.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I pulled our heavy front door open and slipped out into bright sunshine.

It was a long walk to the old castle, but I wanted to make a wish, and I wanted to make it in the place where it would have been the best chance of being granted.

The castle had been abandoned when King Jerrold was a boy, although it had been reopened on special occasions, for private balls, weddings, and the like. Even so, Bertha said it was haunted and Nathan said it was infested with mice. It's garden was overgrown, but Bertha swore the candle trees had power.

I went straight to the candle grove. The candles were small trees that had been pruned and tied to wires to make them grow in the shape of candelabra.

For wishes you need trading material. I closed my eyes and thought.

"If Mother gets well quick, I'll be good, not just obedient. I'll try harder not to be clumsy and I won't tease Mandy so much."

I didn't bargain for Mother's life, because I didn't belive she was in danger of dying.


	2. Chapter 2

"Leaving behind a grieving husband and child. We must comfort them." High Chancellor Thomas wound down after droning on for an hour. Some of his speech had been about Mother. At least, the words "Lady Eleanor" were spoken often, but the person they described-dutiful parent, loyal citizen, steadfast spouse-sounded more like the high chancellor than like my mother. Part of the speech had been about dying, but more was about giving allegiance to Kyrria and its rulers, King Jerrold, Prince Charmont, and the entire royal family.

Father reached for my hand. His palm was moist and hot as a hydra's swamp. I wished I had been allowed to stand with Mandy annd the other servants.

I pulled out of his grasp and moved a step away. He closed the distance between us and took my hand again.

Mother's casket was made of gleaming mahogany carved with designs of fairies and elves. If only the fairies would leap out of the wood and cast a spell to bring her back to life. And another one to send Father away. Or maybe my fairy godmother would do it, if I knew where to find her

When high chancellor finished, it was my task to close the casket so Mother could be lowered into her grave. Father put his hand on my shoulders and pushed me forward.

Mother's mouth was stern, the opposite of its look in life. And her face was empty, which was awful. But worse was the creak as the coffin lid went down and the dry click when it closed. And the thought of Mother packed away in a box.

The tears I swallowed all day erupted. I stood there before the whole court, crying in an infant's endless wail, unable to stop myself.

Father pressed my face into his chest. Perhaps he appeared to be comforting me, but he was only trying to muffle my noise, which couldn't be muffled. He let me go. In a sharp whisper, he said, "Get away from here. Come back when you can be quiet."

I ran. My heavy black gown tripped me, and I fell. Before anyone could help me, I was off again, my knee and hand stinging.

The biggest tree in the graveyard was a weeping willow-a crying tree. I plunged through its leaves and threw myself down, sobbing.

Everyone called it losing Mother, but she wasn't lost. She was gone, and no matter where I went-another town, another country, Fairyland, or Gnome Caverns-I wouldn't find her.

We'd never talk again, or laugh together. Or swim in the River Lucarno. Or slide down the banister or play tricks on Bertha. Or a million things.

I cried myself out and sat up. My gown had changed in front from black silk to brown dirt. As Mandy would say, I was a spectacle.

Outside the privacy of my tree, Prince Charmont stood, reading a tombstone. I had never been so near him before. Had he heard me cry?

Although the prince was only two years taller than I, he was much taller, and he stood just like father, feet apart, hands behind his back, as though the whole country were passing by on review. He looked like his father too, although the sharp angles of King Jerrold's face softened in his son. They each had tawny curls and swarthy skin. I had never been near enough to the king to know whether he also had a sprinkle of freckles across his nose, surprising on such a dark face.

"Cousin of mine," the prince said, gesturing at the tombstone. "Never liked him. I liked your mother." He started walking back toward her tomb.

Did he expect me to come with him? Was I supposed to maintain a suitable distance from his royal self?

With enough room for a carriage to pass between us, I walked at his side. He moved closer. I saw he had been crying too, although he had stayed upright and clean.

"You can call me Char," he told me suddenly. "Everyone else does."

I could? We walked in silence.

"My father calls me Char too," he added.

The king!

"Thank you," I said.

"Thank you, Char," he corrected. Then,"Your mother used to make me laugh. Once at a banquet, Chancellor Thomas was making a speech. While he talked, your mother moved her napkin around. I got to see it before your father crumpled it up. She had arranged the edge in the shape of the chancellor's profile, with the mouth open and the chin stuck out. It would have looked exactly like him if he were the color of a blue napkin. I had to leave without dinner so I could go outside and laugh."

We were halfway back. It was starting to rain. I could make out one small figure, small in the distance, standing by Mother's grave. Father.

"Where did everyone go?" I asked Char.

"They all left before I came to find you," he said. "Did you want them to wait?" He sounded worried, as if, perhaps, be should have made them stay.

"No, I didn't want any of them to wait," I answered, meaning Father could have gone too

"I know all about you," Char announced after we'd taken a few more steps.

"You do? How could you?"

"Your cook and my cook meet at the market. She talks about you." He looked sideways at me. "Do you know much about me?"

"No." Mandy had never said anything. "What do you know?"

"I know you an imitate people just as Lady could. On e you imitated your manservant to his face, and he wasn't sure if he was the servant or you were. You make up your own fairy tales and you drop things and trip over things. I know once you broke a whole set of dishes."

"I slipped on ice!"

"Ice chips you spilled before you slipped on them." He laughed. It wasn't a ridiculing laugh; it was a happy laugh at a good joke.

"An accident," I protested. But I smiled too, trembling, after so much crying.

We reached Father, who bowed. "Thank you, Highness, for accompanying my daughter."

Char returned the bow.

"Come, Eleanor," Father said.

Eleanor. No one had ever called me that before, even though it was my real name. Eleanor had always been Mother, and always would be.

"Ella, I'm Ella," I said.

"Ella then. Come, Ella." He bowed to Prince Charmont and climbed into the carriage.

I had to go. Char handed me in. I didn't know whether to give him my hand or let him push me elbow. He wound up with the middle of my arm and I had to grasp the side of the carriage for balance. When he closed the door, I caught my skirt, and there was a loud ripping sound. Father winced. I saw Char through the window, laughing again. I turned the skirt and found a gash about six inches above the hem. Bertha would never be able to make it smooth.

I arranged myself as far from Father as possible. He was staring out the window.

"A fine affair. All of Frell came, everyone who counts anyway," he said, as though Mother's funeral had been a tournament or a ball.

"It wasn't fine. It was awful," I said. How could Mother's funeral be fine?

"The prince was friendly to you."

"He liked Mother."

"Your mother was beautiful." His voice regretful. "I'm sorry she is dead."

Nathan flicked his whip, and the carriage began to move.


	3. Chapter 2- Char

That stupid fairy Lucinda. She put the stupidest curse on me. I have to do whatever someone says. That could be very dangerous for Frell. I might not be able to be king. My lucky wife may not be so lucky.

I see the daughter a Lady Eleanor, a girl I admired, who passed away. I don't want her to uncover my secret. "Cousin of mine. Never liked him," I lie. I try and turn the topic away from me and to her."I liked your mother."

"You can call me Char," I told her. If I become her friend, I don't think she'll order me about if she finds out,"Everyone else does."

"My father calls me Char too," maybe she didn't feel special enough. Is this the game I'll have to play my whole life?!

"Thank you," she says finally. If I let her use my nickname, she better use it.

"Thank you, Char," I correct her then turn the topic over to her, worried that she'll order me to do something and discover my secret. "Your mother used to make me laugh. Once, at a banquet, Chancellor Thomas was making a speech. While he talked, your mother moved her napkin around. I saw it before your father crumpled it up. She had arranged the edge in the shape of the chancellor's profile, with the mouth open and the chin stuck out. It would have looked exactly like him if he were the color of the blue napkin. I had to leave without dinner so I could go outside and laugh." Maybe she won't order people about. Her mother was that way.

Ww were halfway back when it started to rain. I could make out one figure, small in the distance, standing by Lady Eleanor's grave, Ella's boring father.

"Where did everyone go?" Ella asked me.

"They all left before I came to find you," worried she'll give me an order. "Did you want them to wait."

"No, I didn't want any of them to wait," she said. Few!

"I know all about you," I say to keep a conversation going, where there is a small chance that she could give me an order.

"You do? How could you."

"Your cook and my cook meet at the market. She talks about you." What I said was true. I look at her sideways. "Do you know much about me?"

"No she says." she says. "What do you know?"

"I know you can imitate people just as Lady Eleanor could. Once you imitated your manservant to his face, and he wasn't sure if he was the servant or you were. You tell your own fairy tales and you drop things and trip over things. I know once you broke a whole set of dishes."

"I slipped on ice!" she replies.

"Ice chips you spilled before you slipped on them." I laughed.

"An accident," she protested. But she smiled. Almost laughing.

We see Ella's father. "Thank you Highness, for accompanying my daughter." He bowed.

I returned the bow.

"Come, Eleanor."

Eleanor? Even I know she doesn't like being called Eleanor and he's her father!

"Ella. I'm Ella," she says.

"Ella then. Come, Ella." He bowed again then climbed in is carriage,

I handed her in. She seemed unsure of what to do. People are always like that around me. When I closed the door I heard a ripping noise. There was a gash in her skirt about six inches above the hemline! I started laughing.

I finally found someone who won't give me orders!


	4. Chapter 3

When we reached the manor, Father order me to change into something clean and to hurry down to greet the guests who were arriving to pay their respects.

My room was peaceful. Everything was the way it was before Mother died. The birds embroidered into the coverlet on my bed were safe in their world of cross-stitched leaves. My diary was on the dresser. The friends of my childhood-Flora, the rag doll, and Rosamunde,the wooden doll in the gown with seven flounces-nestled in their basket.

I didn't want to get dressed, but I'll get punished if I don't.

Once I'd overheard Bertha tell Mandy that Father was only a person on the outside and that his insides were ashes mixed with coins and a brain.

But Mandy had disagreed. "He's human through and through. No other creature would be as selfish as he is not fairies or gnomes or elves or giants."

Although I suspected father wanted me to wear another mourning gown, I put on the frock Mother liked best. She said the spicy green brought out my eyes. I thought I looked like a grasshopper in it-a skinny, spiky grasshopper with a human head and straight hair. But at least it wasn't black. She hated black clothing.

The great hall was full of people in black. Father came to me instatly. "Here's my lass, young Eleanor," he said loudly. He led me in, whispering, "You look likea weed in that gown. You're supposed to be in mourning. They'll think you have no respect for your-"

I was engulfed from behind by two chubby arms encased in rustling black satin.

"My poor child, we feel for you," The voice was syrupy. "And Sir Peter, it's dreadful to see you on such a tragic occasion." An extra tight squeeze and I was released.

The speaker was a tall, plump lady with long and wavy honey-colored tresses. Her face was a pasty white with twin spots of rouge on the cheeks. With her were two smaller versions of herself, but without the rouge. The younger one also lacked her abundant hair; instead she had thin curls stuck tight to her scalp as though glued there.

"This is Dame Ogla," Father said, touching the tall lady's arm.

I curtsied and knocked into the younger girl. "Beg pardon." I said.

She didn't answer, didn't move, only watched me.

Father continued. "Are these your lovely daughters?"

"They are my treasures. This is Hattie, and this is Olive. They are off to finishing school in a few days."

Hattie was older than I, by about two years. "Delighted to make your acquaintance," she said, smiling and showing her largest front teeth. She held her hand out to me as though she expected me to kiss it or bow over it

I stared, uncertain what to do. She lowered her arm, but continued to smile.

Olive was the one I bumped. "I'm glad to meet you," she said, her voice too loud. She was about my age. The furrows of a frown were permanently etched between her eyes.

"Comfort Eleanor in her grief," Dame Olga told her daughters. "I want to talk to Sir Peter." She took Father's arm, and they left us.

"Our hearts weep for you," Hattie began. "When you bellowed at the funeral, I thought what a poor thing you are."

"Green isn't a mourning color," Olive said.

Hattie surveyed the room. "This is a fine hall, almost as fine as the palace, where I'm going to live someday. Our mother, Dame Olga, says your father is very rich. She says he can make money out of anything."

"Out of a toenail," Olive suggested.

"Our mother, Dame Olga, says your father was poor when he married your mother. Our mother says Lady Eleanor was rich when they got married, but your father made her richer."

"We're rich too," Olive said. "We're lucky to be rich."

"Would you show us the rest of our manor?" Hattie asked.

We went upstairs and Hattie had to look everywhere. She opened the wardrobe in Mother's room and, before I could stop her, ran her hands over Mother's gowns. When we got back to the hall she announced, "Forty-two windows must have cost a trunkful of gold KJs."

"Do you want to know about our manor?" Olive said.

I didn't care if they lived in a hollow log.

"You'll have to visit us and see for yourself," Hattie said in response to my silence.

We stood near the side table, which was loaded with mountains of food, from a whole roast hart with ivy threaded through its antlers to butter cookies as small and lacy as snowflakes. I wondered how Mandy had had time to cook it all.

"Would you like something to eat?"

"Ye-" Olive began, but her sister interrupted firmly.

"Oh, no. No thank you. We never eat at parties. The excitement quite takes away our appetites."

"My appetite-" Olive tried again.

"Our appetites are small. Mother worries. But it looks delicious." Hattie edged toward the food. "Quail eggs are such a delicacy. Ten brass KJs apiece. Olive, there are fifty at least."

More quail eggs than windows.

"I likegooseberry tarts," Olive said.

"We mustn't,' Hattie said. "Well maybe a little."

A gaint coudn't eat half a leg of deer plus a huge mound of wild rice and eight of fifty quil eggs ang go back for desert. But Hattie could.

Olive ate even more. Gooseberry tarts and curant bread and cream trifle and plum pudding and chocolate bonbons and sice cake-all dribbled over with butter rum sauce and apricot sauce and peppermint sauce.

They brought their plates close to their faces sotheir forks had the shortest possible distance to travel. Olive ate steadily, but Hattie put her fork down every so often to pat her mouth daintly with her napkin. Then she'd tuck in again, as avidly as ever.

It was disgusting to watch . I looked down at the throw rug that used to lie under Mother's chair. Today it had been moved near the food. I had never concentrated on it before.

A hound and hunters chaseda boar toward a fringe of scaret wool. As I stared, I saw movement. Wind stirred the grass by the boar's feet. I blinked again and the movement stopped. It started again and it started again.

The dog had just baed. I felt his throat relax. One of the hunters limped, and I felt a crap in his calf. The boar grasped for breath and ran on fear and rage.

"What are you looking at?" Olive asked. She had finished eating.

I stared. I felt I had been in the rug. "Nothing. Just the carpet." I glanced at the rug again. An ordinary carpet with an ordinary design.

"Your eyes were popping out."

"They looked like an ogre's eyes," Hattie said. "Buggy. But there, you look more noral now."

She never looked normal. She looked like a rabbit. A fat one, the kind Mandy liked to slaughter for stew. And Olive's face was as blank as a peeled potato.

"I don't suppose your eyes ever pop out," I said.

"I don't think so." Hattie smiled complacenetly.

"They're to small to pop."

The smile remained, but now it seemed pasted on. "I forgive you, child. We in the peerage are forgiving. Your poor mother used to be known for her ill breeding too."

Mother used to be knwn. The past tense froze my tongue.

'Girls!" Dame Ogla bore down on us. "We must be going." She hugged me, and my nose filled with the stink of spoiled milk."

They left. Father was outside at the iron gate, saying good-bye too the rest of the guests I went to Mandy in the kitchen.

She was piling up dirt dishes. "Seems those peple didn't eat for weeks."

I put on an apron and pumped water into the sink. "They never tasted your food before."

Mandy's cooking was better thn anybody else's. other and I used to try her recipes sometimes. We'd follo the instructions exactly and the dish would be delicious, but never as wonderful as when Mandy cooked it.

Somehow, it reminded me of the rug "The carpet in the hall with the hunters and the boar, you know the one? Something funny happened to me when I looked at it before."

"Oh, tht silly little thing. You shouldn't pay attention to that old rug." She turned to stir a pot of soup.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a fairy joke."

A fairy rug! "How do you know?"

"It belonged to Lady." Mandy always called Mother "Lady."

That wasn't an answer. "Did my fairy godmother give it to her?"

"A long time ago."

"Did Mother ever tell you who my fairy godmother is?"

"No, she didn't. Where's your father?"

"He's outside saying good-bye. Do you know anway? Even though she never told you?"

"Know what?"

"Who my fairy godmother is."

"If she had wanted you to know, you mother would have told you."

"She was going to. She promised. Please tell me Mandy."

"I am"

"You are _not_ telling me. Who is it?"

"Me. Your fairy godmother is me. Here, taste the carrot soup. It's for dinner. How is it?"


End file.
